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Shadow and Shade

"I stayed up all night finishing Shadow and Shade, a fascinating fantasy world of magic, family, and what happens when the two collide. A tough and enchanting tale that will have you listening to the forest and talking to the wolves. I can't wait to see what Gerrard writes next!" Rebecca Cantrell, New York Times bestselling author of The World Beneath

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A Dozen Sets of Claws

The door slammed. “Hello!” Marcus called. He threw his jacket on the floor. He kept walking. Then his shoes, his pants, and so on, all the way into the bathroom, where he took off his underwear and jumped into the shower.

His wife Abby couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Their dog sniffed at the clothes, then snorted and walked away. “Honey, what the hell are you doing?” she called.

“I got cut all to hell by a cat at the grooming salon. My clothes are covered in cat slobber. So am I,” he replied.

“That’s a romantic image.” She leaned into the bathroom. Marcus was already obscured by a cloud of steam. She could see band aids and bandages on his hands and arms. Rough day. “And your clothes are on the floor I just vacuumed… why?”

“So that I don’t get cat hair all over the furniture.”

“Ah. Thanks. I guess. Whose cat was it?”

Marcus laughed. “Oh, that’s the best part. Are you ready for this?” He felt as clean as he was going to get. He shut off the water and started groping for a towel. Abby handed it to him. She went to get a trash bag to dump the clothes into. She didn’t want to touch them if she could avoid it. The dog was way ahead of her. She guessed it was in its favorite hiding spot under the stairs.

“It was…” Marcus came out of the bathroom wearing his robe. “It was my brother John. The one who’s allergic to cats. The cat was given to him by our rich aunt Sadie.”

Abby picked up the jacket using Marcus’ ski gloves. Marcus rolled with it. His jacket, his cat – well, his brother’s – his mess. It was only fair. Abby put it together. “John got the inheritance.”

“Every last dime, as long as he takes care of her dozen cats. He can go to any damned groomer in the city, but he brings them to me.” He picked up his socks and pants by his fingertips and put them into the bag.

“Ugh. Why don’t you just tell him and his cats to pound sand?”

“Fifty dollars a cat, plus hazard pay. A paycheck’s a paycheck.”

Abby looked over his wounds. “Maybe, but flipping him off feels better. Keep it in mind, babe.”

Marcus finished dumping the clothes in the bag. She might be right. Some of those cats had claws like switch blades. One or two lucky swipes and those fees would be getting put towards co-pays for stitches.